My skin is white, like porcelain,
soft and fragile to the touch
A blank canvas, so clean and innocent
one would think such beauty is enough
But when I listen to the most inspiring music
I hear piano and the lyrics, the words become my skin
And so I look to my body,
thinking of where I can begin
May my body become the book of a Poet
as I listen to the words as they become inked on my skin
Such beauty is sacrificed for another beauty;
Beautiful words instead of smooth porcelain
And although you may never know it,
I embrace my new skin-bound talisman
Every cursive line
will follow me to my death
Every lyric
will never fail to steal my breath
May the music become my skin; may music become my skin